By evening, the city felt different. The rain had stopped, but the air was thicker, charged, like everyone was waiting for the next headline to drop.
Ethan's voice came from the corner, fast and clipped. "Daniel Carter just retained a crisis PR firm. The same one politicians use when they're about to go nuclear."
Adrian's jaw flexed once. "Expected."
I sat curled on the office couch, still in the suit I'd worn to the press room, phone buzzing every minute with mentions. Brave. Reckless. Daddy's traitor. CEO's pet.
"Do they ever… stop?" I asked, staring at the endless scroll.
"No," Adrian said without looking up from his laptop. "They just get bored when someone else bleeds louder."
Ethan hesitated. "Sir, there's something else. Daniel filed a petition to block the acquisition. He's claiming insider misconduct—your relationship with Ella as evidence."
My stomach twisted. "What relationship?"
"That's his narrative," Ethan said gently.
Adrian closed the laptop with finality. "He's trying to paint me as corrupt. And you as compromised."
I swallowed hard. Rule Four: Trust no one but me.
"What does he have?" I asked. "What could he possibly—"
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Blackwell," a voice from reception said nervously. "There's… a delivery. For Ms. Carter."
Adrian and Ethan exchanged a glance.
Minutes later, a plain envelope sat on the desk. My name in neat block letters.
"Don't," Adrian warned as I reached for it.
But curiosity was stronger. My fingers tore the flap.
Inside: a USB drive.
Ethan paled. "Classic smear tactic. Video, doctored audio, something they can release with just enough plausibility."
Adrian slid the drive into a secure laptop, jaw tight. A video filled the screen—grainy footage, timestamped two days ago.
Me. In Adrian's office. His hand brushing my hair from my face. The near-kiss that never happened.
Except in the video, it did.
The edit was seamless—his hand sliding down, his mouth on mine, my body leaning in like surrender. The angle was perfect for scandal.
My breath stopped. "That never—"
"I know." Adrian's voice was ice. "But the world doesn't care what's true. They care what looks true."
The video ended with a caption burned across the frame:PROOF OF COERCION. BLACKWELL'S INTERN. CARTER'S DAUGHTER.
Silence.
"They'll release it," Ethan said. "Maybe tonight. Maybe timed with Daniel's next move."
Adrian stood, storm-dark, every line of him sharpened to a weapon. "Then we get ahead of it."
"By how?" I asked, voice breaking.
He turned to me, gaze cutting. "By making sure the world sees the truth in your eyes before they see his lies."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "You mean—face it. Together."
"Yes." His hand brushed mine, deliberate, grounding. His voice softened. "Ella, you have to trust me."
"I do," I whispered. And I meant it. Too much.
The air between us thickened again. That same pull, magnetic, dangerous. His eyes dropped to my mouth; mine betrayed me by not looking away.
For a heartbeat, the world outside didn't exist. Just the two of us, rule three hanging by a thread.
Then Ethan cleared his throat. "Sir. We need a statement drafted before the video drops."
The spell broke. Adrian stepped back, mask snapping on. "Right. Draft it."
But the echo of almost lingered in the space where his lips had almost been.
By midnight, the video was live.
Not on a news site—on every gossip account worth its salt. Retweeted, reposted, remixed with captions that burned hotter than fact ever could.
Proof. Blackwell kisses his intern. Carter's daughter compromised. #ForbiddenGame
My phone buzzed until I threw it face down.
"Damage control?" Ethan asked.
Adrian didn't blink at the storm on his screen. "No. We don't control damage. We control narrative." He turned to me. "Ella—tomorrow, you stand beside me again. And this time, we don't defend. We attack."
The words seared. My father's game had just turned nuclear.
And I was the war they were fighting.